


Insolent

by lea_hazel



Series: Decline and Fall [19]
Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Books, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Hyperion has an anger problem, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-07 21:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21464500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: In which Verity does not read torrid romances in her spare time, for reasons that should be obvious.
Relationships: Arland Princess/King of Revaire
Series: Decline and Fall [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/946446
Kudos: 2





	1. A History of Astronomical Navigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hyperion catches Verity reading in the garden.

Queen Violetta held court at Glassmere with the same aplomb she had done back in the capital, albeit in much reduced circumstances. The estate was large, and the house modern and comfortable, but it was no palace, and her court consisted of only such noble families as lived within a short carriage ride's distance. Lady Elyssen was clearly not accustomed to hosting so many people, although the house was set up for hospitality -- each member of the royal family was assigned a separate guest bedroom, much to everyone's relief. Perhaps, Verity mused, the family had hosted more before the chain of tragedies that had derailed their comfortable country nobility's routine.

While the lady of the house attended on Her Majesty's whims, Gisette was plotting her own intrigues, and Jarrod filled his time with the athletic pursuits that best diverted him. Verity didn't really care what he did, as long as he wasn't sulking, or demanding her attention. That left Verity herself with plenty of time for reading, writing letters, and idle contemplation. She found that Glassmere's splendid rose garden was an ideal setting for all of these activities. The drowsy drone of bees in the golden summer sunlight put her in a daydreaming frame of mind, and bits and pieces of her contemplation made their way into her letters and journal. Often she would settle down with a good book and the best intentions of making progress in her reading, only to drift off under the effects of the garden's dreamy atmosphere.

She was indulging just such a daydream, her book open in her lap with her finger marking the last line she read, when she was startled out of her reverie. It was her own fault, she was sure, for turning complacent and not paying attention to what was going on around her. And for neglecting the King's activities in her agenda, after having made a point of accounting for every other member of her family.

Verity slowly released the the gasp of air she had sucked in, and closed her book, using a finger as a bookmark. That done, she turned to regard the intruder on her quiet afternoon.

"Are you meaning to spend the whole summer reading silly books?" asked Hyperion, scowling down at her with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Kriste's _A History of Astronomical Navigation_ is silly?" asked Verity. "I rather thought it was a good choice for expanding my horizons."

His scowl only darkened. "When will you ever need to navigate by the stars?" he asked, with a broad gesture of his hand. "Read something more practical, if you must waste your time reading at all."

Verity was tempted to quip about a fake secret plan to run off to Hise, but she had a feeling that provoking him would end up being more trouble than it was worth. "What would be a more worthy pursuit in your eyes?" she asked instead. "Embroidery? Tatting lace?"

He snorted dismissively.

"Yes, I thought so," she muttered.

"Don't talk under your breath, Verity," said Hyperion sternly. "It's unbecoming."

Verity raised her voice and tipped her head up to meet his eyes, and said quite clearly, "You're worse than my old governess."

"Your governess would have whipped you for being so insolent, you little brat," he retorted.

This was far above the biting tenor of their usual exchanges, and she began to wonder whether her mutinous behavior had pushed past some invisible cliff's edge. She had forgotten to ask herself what business he was about, that made him so often absent from dinner, that made him disappear for days on end. Whatever it was had begun long before they left the city for their summer retreat, and it evidently had him on edge. He'd seen her read books before, after all.

"May I ask what has provoked this tempest?" she said.

"Never you mind," he said, leaning down to pluck the book from her fingers. "Nothing for little princesses to worry about."

This was much more in the vein of his usual behavior, but the shift was sudden and disconcerting. It was vexing, but Verity held her tongue and watched him examine the book in detail.

"You really _are_ reading Kriste," he said, raising an eyebrow at the leather-bound volume's gilt-pressed title.

"Did you believe I was lying?" asked Verity, her fingers digging into her palms.

He gestured broadly with the book still in hand. "Oh, I thought you might be reading one of those torrid novels young girls are so fond of, or so I hear."

She was perfectly impassive, and her face as still as air, when she said, "What use would I have for a torrid novel?"

Really, it was beyond insulting.

It was a moment before he caught her implication, but when he did, a dark smile spread slowly on his face. "Is that so?" he said.

"Can I have my book back?" asked Verity, holding out her hand, palm up. "Or do you have other plans for it?"

He flipped through the book idly, then set it down on the table to her right. "No," he said thoughtfully. "Not for the book, no."

"Lady Elyssen will be out soon to tend her roses," said Verity.

His brows snapped together. "How inconvenient."

Verity resisted the urge to point out that it was _her_ house, and the King was her guest. She'd been taught hospitality etiquette, after all, and she had very strict ideas about gratitude and duty. Of course. _Duty_ had always featured first in any lesson of her youth, whether it was etiquette, history, astronomy... She could have drifted off into her own thoughts again, but the thrumming energy of Hyperion's restless presence, still within arm's reach of her, was too much to ignore.

"Are you ignoring me, Verity?" he asked sharply.

"Hardly," she replied, tipping her head back to meet his eyes again.

"You've grown brazen and presumptuous, little princess," he said, "and I regret that I can't teach you better right here and now. But I shall have to content myself with a later hour, when no meddling fools are about to disrupt us."

"You seem confident that I'll submit to receiving your instruction, Your Majesty," said Verity. "What if I have better things to do tonight?"

It was always a bit of a game of chance, waiting to find out whether she'd provoked him too much, or just enough. He might have lunged forward and made a grab for her. Not that she expected that he would do her violence, but he had a bruising grip when he was agitated, and Verity was of a mind to wear a short-sleeved gown for dinner. But she had played her card well, as she soon found out.

He tipped her face to his with one finger under her chin and said, quite calmly, "I have perfect confidence that I'll find you sitting in that exact seat, an hour after dinner. And I expect to find you as compliant as any man might wish."

He was almost certainly right, damn the man.


	2. The Boathouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets kept in the dark and silence of night.

After dinner, she lit a shaded lantern and went out into the dark garden. She knew the light would be visible from the windows of the house, where the royals were still enjoying their after-dinner drinks. Still, she didn't dare brave the twisting garden paths in pitch darkness. It would be only too easy to trip over a rock on one of the flowerbed borders and hurt herself. She'd once twisted her ankle tripping over her own skirt train, a particularly embarrassing experience which she didn't care to repeat. So she had made some excuse about forgetting something in the garden, and asked a maid to fetch her the lantern.

She wound her way to the quiet little arbor where she'd been sitting that afternoon, tucked between two of Lady Elyssen's prized rose trees. When she rounded a bend and the arbor came into view, she was only mildly surprised to find Hyperion already waiting for her. Sitting in the very chair he had found her in, earlier the same day. Even by the lantern's flimsy light, there was no mistaking him. His long legs stretched out before him, encroaching into the garden path, and somehow giving his entire lounging pose an air of discordantly tense energy.

Verity crossed the path and said, mildly, as though arriving at an afternoon garden party, "Have you been waiting long?"

"Really?" he asked.

She imagined she could see him raising an eyebrow, though there was not enough light for that.

"Put that thing down," he said.

He had to mean the lantern. She wasn't holding anything else. She could have set it on the table, but instead she reached up to fasten it to an empty hook on the arbor's wrought-iron trellis. The hem of her skirt whispered over the flagstones. Hyperion brushed the waterfall of pleats with the back of his hand. He looked up at her, and she waited for him to pull her down into his lap, but he just shook his head.

"Too much light," he said. "What I have in mind is better done in darkness. Come on."

He stood up then, and, placing his hand on the small of her back, drew her along the darkened garden paths, navigating unerringly to where the shadows were most dense, under the waning moon. Could he see in the dark, like a cat? Or had he simply planned his path in advance?

"I'm glad you're prepared," said Verity. "If I had to traverse these paths alone, I'd be sure to lose my way in the dark."

"Don't be dramatic, Verity," said Hyperion. "It's a rose garden, not an untamed wilderness."

"Oh, that's a relief," she replied. "I'm not dressed for wilderness exploration."

He snorted. "I doubt you own a single garment that would survive a stay in the wild. I should have sent you to Asper for the summer, so you could see what real wilderness looks like."

"I suppose there's always next summer," said Verity.

"Except that I've no interest in returning to Asper," he said crisply, "and my business is here."

"Your business with me?" she asked. "Or business in general?"

Hyperion smiled. "You needn't worry yourself about that. What excuse did you give for wandering the garden alone at night?"

"Do I need an excuse?" she asked.

"If anyone comes looking for you, they'll find a lit lamp hanging over an empty seat," he pointed out.

"Maybe I went out to look at the lake," said Verity, "and I lit a lamp so that I could have a fixed point of light to find my way back by. Do you have an excuse for your absence from the dinner table?"

He smiled again. "I do what I want."

She knew what he wanted her to say. At this distance, his scent and the warmth of his body were enough to muddle her senses, but the gnawing curiosity was too much to forget. Perhaps he saw or guessed at her hesitation, because his eyes shone in the dark and he leaned in to close the distance between them. Winding an arm around her waist he pulled her closer in, and dipped his head low to kiss her neck. Verity strangled the moan bubbling up in her throat.

Taking full advantage of his position, he leaned in to whisper, "Does that satisfy your curiosity, Verity?"

She shivered, but said, "Not quite."

"Insolent girl," he murmured, but without rancor. "What can I do to persuade you?"

"Persuade me?" she asked. "I didn't realize this was a negotiation."

"Every meeting we have is a negotiation, Verity," explained Hyperion with exaggerated patience. "You want something, I want something. Somehow or other, we arrive at an exchange that's satisfying to us both. And now..."

"Now you want something from me," said Verity, emboldened by his matter-of-fact attitude.

Instead of answering her with words, he ran the tip of his tongue over the shell of her ear, in a way that made Verity's knees wobble ominously. _I need something to lean against_, was the first thought that shot, white-hot, through her mind.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I want to spread your thighs," he said, "and make you scream my name."

She laughed, resting her forehead on his chest to muffle the sound. "Screaming seems ill-advised, unless you want to be interrupted by a gaggle of concerned footmen."

"No, that would not align with my plans," he said. "Better avoid it. Here."

And he reached beyond her and pushed. She heard a soft creak, and realized that the denser darkness behind her was not a clump of shrubbery, as she had assumed, but a small structure. A shed? No, it was the small boathouse that crouched at the edge of the garden. But the dark was so deep that she couldn't tell one shadow from another, except to see that the building's interior was cluttered and treacherous.

Verity tried to pick her way cautiously forward, but she couldn't help but flinch and hesitate at every step. "Perhaps you should lead the way," she said. "I'm not used to operating in such uncertain terrain."

"Are you afraid of the dark, princess?" he asked, his voice rather more scornful than she thought he had the right to.

"It's not fear, it's completely reasonable caution."

He forged the way a few steps ahead of her before turning back and saying, "Close your eyes."

She hesitated. "It's not dark enough already?"

"Then you have nothing to lose," he pointed out. "Just trust me."

"That seems very ill-advised," said Verity, but she shut her eyes all the same.

Almost at the same moment, she felt his warm hands wrapping around her waist and had to stifle a yelp when he swept her up and pinned her against some solid, curved surface. She'd never done well with surprises or sudden movements, come to think of it. That proved to be a short-lived concern. Bracing on one arm, he leaned close and pressed his mouth against hers, muting any and all of the unwanted noises that inadvertently slipped past her control. She clamped her hands in his coat without thinking, and had to force herself to unclasp each finger, flattening her palms against his chest. Not that she could feel much other than his coat. He never would undress for her, though he was quick enough now to reach for the fastenings of her bodice.

"It has been a very long and unrewarding week, Verity," he murmured quietly in her ear. "How nice to have something soft and warm in my grasp at last."

He punctuated that last sentence by squeezing her bottom.

Verity walked her fingers slowly up his chest and round the back of his neck. "And now that I'm in your grasp?" she asked. "What do you mean to do about it?"

Hyperion stroked both his hands down the sides of her thighs. The thick blanket of darkness swallowed the details of his face, but she could imagine in her mind's eye the exact devious smile he was smiling. Soon he would catch hold of her hem and start hiking her skirt up. Soon he would pin her again and enter her. She couldn't decide whether she wanted him to rush or to take his time.

"It's a negotiation, Verity," he said, and reached up to trace her lips with his fingertips. "When last we spoke, you were very sweet to me. I wouldn't like you to think of me as a man who doesn't pay his debts. I think I owe you a gift in return. What do you want?"

Her face felt horribly warm, but surely it was too dark for him to see. She clasped her hands behind his neck and pulled herself close against him. Nestling her face into the side of his neck, she puffed out a small breath that made him shudder, and whispered her answer directly into his ear.

His reaction was swift and intense.

"I take back everything I said earlier today," he murmured. "I have no desire to see you act and speak as a prim and proper Arland maiden should. Please, keep being as vulgar as you like. Do you know what it does to a man to hear you say such things?"

She smiled. "You're not exactly trying to hide it."

He reached down and, just as she knew he would, began to rake up her skirt. Verity let her knees fall open just enough for him to slide his palm between her thighs. He clicked his tongue at her, impatient to be let in, and laughed breathlessly when he reached his destination. His fingertips slipped easily through the gap in her drawers.

"I see I don't need to ask if you're ready," he said. "God, you're so wet."

Verity said nothing, but arched her back and leaned into his touch.

"I bet I could get you off with just my fingers," he said. "Easily. It wouldn't be but a minute."

"I want--" she panted.

"Yes," he said. "I know."

He withdrew his hand and pushed her thighs apart, and reached up to grasp her by the wrists, pulling her hands away from his neck and pinning them above her head. He was braced, hovering just an inch from her now, so close she could see his eyes shine in the dark and feel his breath on her cheek. All she could hear was the sound of her own blood rushing through her ears like a thunderstorm.

"For God's sake," she demanded, panting, "what are you waiting for?"

"I thought I saw--"

How he could see anything in pitch darkness was a mystery.

"Don't think," she ordered. "Just fuck me."

Hyperion laughed. "What a bossy little thing you are. Imagine thinking you can order me around. You're lucky I'm in a good mood, because I could draw this out for _hours_ if I felt so inclined."

As if he wasn't as desperate as she was.

"Didn't you only just say something about my deserving a prize?" she asked crossly.

"I _thought_ I saw some rope, but if you're so impatient, that will simply have to wait for next time," said Hyperion.

He wrenched her arms higher over her head and Verity yelped, but he was not yet done. He leaned against her with all his bulk, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. His mouth moved over her throat, exactly where her pulse was racing. Verity whined softly. She hadn't thought she could get more pathetically needy. Finally, _finally_ he pushed into her and she turned her head to one side to muffle her cry. Untroubled, Hyperion took advantage to trace a line of short, sharp nips up her exposed neck.

"I waited too long for this, Verity," he murmured in her ear, his voice husky.

His hand skimmed over her thigh but she could hardly feel it through the linen and the pulsing, white-hot sensation of his moving inside her, burning up her nerves. She did notice when he dropped her wrists like hot coals and, grabbing her above the knees, pulled her legs closer around him. Verity took the hint and wrapped both arms and legs around him, her ankles locking behind his knees and her hands around his neck. He groaned when her fingers scrabbled for purchase, and his steady rhythm faltered.

"Don't stop now," she begged. "I'm so close."

He murmured some incoherent words that were swallowed into the folds of her skin, his hot breath tickling her neck, but he didn't stop. Verity closed her eyes and held on, her fingers cramping, back arching, and every muscle in her body burning as though she'd been running halfway around the lake. She didn't know what she was saying or thinking or what was around her, except the thick, blanketing dark and the deep sensation like a spring coiled tightly, deep inside her body.

A moment later, she came so hard it was almost painful. Her fingers grasped numbly at his neck through the long, slow moments before he followed with a shudder. Verity clenched and unclenched her hands, trying to catch her breath, while Hyperion panted raggedly into her neck. Perhaps it was best he hadn't gotten those ropes, if that was more than an idle promise. Already this was one of their most intense encounters yet. Any more intensity, and she wasn't entirely sure she would be able to walk back to her room.

While her mind toyed with these idle thoughts, Hyperion gathered himself. She felt the heat and weight of his body recede from hers, and heard the rustle of clothing being put to rights.

"Open your eyes," he commanded.

Verity did, but she could hardly tell the difference. "I must look a fright," she said, but resisted the urge to laugh at her own joke.

Hyperion wasn't laughing. "It's late and it's dark," he said. "Straighten up and head back towards the light at the arbor. Try not to trip over that stupid seashell border and break a bone."

"I think I can manage that," said Verity dryly, though she was far from certain.

"See that you do."

With that, he turned and departed.

Verity spread her palms flat over the hard, curved surface she'd been sprawled against, pushing to leverage her wobbly knees back to a stand. She shuffled her way towards the rectangle of thinner, more watery darkness that she hoped was an open doorway, and soon the cool night air struck her warm face. She took a deep, long lungful of air, and felt her head start to clear. It was tempting to turn back and try to look for that mythical rope, until she reminded herself that she could accomplish the same much more easily tomorrow, in daylight. She still wasn't certain whether she regarded it as a threat or a promise, but there was time yet to think about that.


End file.
